As a parent

I had seen my father last when I was nine years old. I had heard of his death when I was in my 50s. My relationship with mom was an interesting one. I am the first born, so I have a memory of being the first (of the children) caretaker of the family, the first to work (at 14 years old) and the counselor at an early age.
Mom passed away five years ago from pancreatic cancer. During our adult years, she spent months with me when I lived in Maine (we lived in CT before). in one conversation she began apologizing for how I was raised (an abusive step-father). I had developed an understanding of why this happened and her helplessness in stopping this.
We spent much quality time cooking together and sharing memories. In the last few days of her life (I had moved back to CT before then), she questioned her quality as a mother and if I believed she would enter heaven. The memory still brings tears to my eyes.
Sitting here as a parent and grandparent, I realize the moments that are most important. It’s the small and quiet moments we spend with our parents. I cherish those times in the kitchen and times of watching the AMC channel with her. What I’m left with is my job as a parent to give at least as much love as I had received, with all its faults and beauty attached.